


The Not My Partner Affair

by amber_armedheart



Series: The Growing Affair [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, THRUSH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber_armedheart/pseuds/amber_armedheart
Summary: A formula. A key. A code. Three parts of a whole that could place the future of the world in the hands of an evil organization known as THRUSH. With one of them already in enemy’s hands, and another lost after the mysterious disappearance of the main scientist involved in a project, it is up to the top agents of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement to investigate the incident and stop the threat before the criminal forces get the world under their thumb.





	1. Prologue

The Richmond Grand Hotel at the heart of New York was a wonderful place to spend the evening in. The marble floor of the lobby that accompanied the classic pillars leading to the dance hall glittered as they reflected the golden wall lights. Still, the magnificent lobby was nothing compared to the dance hall. The gorgeous wood carved railings on the stairs that led down its front door were the perfect introduction to an outstanding place; the tables that spread all around the dance floor were dressed in expensive burgundy tablecloths that matched the hues of the heavy drapes that hung from the ceiling and covered the private booths on the side. On the back, the band provided the crowd with soft tunes and to the left a luxurious cedar bar stood near the wall, rows of glass bottles containing spirits and liqueurs from all over the world glittering behind it. To common people, such decadent sights would have been reason of awe and wonder, enough for a person to spend the entirety of the night admiring each intricate detail that shaped the room.

But for an experienced woman of the world such as the blonde who entered the dance hall, the place was just another spot where her work had to be done. Perhaps, if the task at hand was handled with enough speed and opportunity presented itself, she could take a few days off in Manhattan and contact his favorite entertainment companion. But first, she had to finish her current assignment. She had no doubt, knowing her own strengths and abilities, that her mission would be easily completed:  engage with the target, gain his interest, find out the access codes to his company and send them back to THRUSH. Nothing she had not done dozens of times before, with an impressive rate of success if she may add without a hint of modesty, but modesty was overrated these days.

A quick scan of the big dance room got her finding exactly who she was looking for: a man on his thirties with brown wavy hair and a melancholic look on his face, cradling a glass of whiskey in one hand as his gaze lost on the singer performing with the band. What a curious occurrence, the agent thought as she made her way to the table, to find the man sitting on his own. But she wasn’t one to reject a chance to make her work easier, so she put on her most charming smile, swaying her hips knowing pretty well the movement would make her black sequined dress sparkle with every step she took. This was _her_ prey, and there was no way she would let him escape.

“Is this seat taken?” Was the question pronounced casually by the blonde, head tilted coyly to the side the same way her smile did on her face.

The man seemed to be taken out of his trance, dark eyes blinking slowly as his attention was directed to the woman now standing by his side. A quick glance from head to toe and he seemed to ponder on what her intentions were, yet he waved a hand dismissively and plastered a polite smile as he replied.

“It would be bad manners to deny a seat to a woman,” the man answered standing up to move the chair so she could sit down, and his deep voice made the blonde’s smirk grow wider. _Perhaps_ , she thought, _she would take her time enjoying this assignment._

“Thank you, darling. It is so hard these days for a woman to find a true gentleman such as you.”

“We gentlemen are a rare species, indeed.” The man took his seat again, taking a sip from his drink and returning his attention to the band and the people dancing on the wooden floor.

“Angelique,” she offered her name, as well as her hand, without him even asking. It was a strange thing that he hadn’t inquired it. All the men she had approached so far had always wanted to know what name to call such a creature like herself. The fact that the man seemed uninterested in it only incensed her curiosity. As the man took her hand and placed the faintest kiss on top, the woman moved an inch closer to him, her voice dropping an octave. “And you are?”

“I fear my name is not as interesting, after hearing yours,” he confided straightening on his seat while he took a glance at the rest of the room. “Although something tells me you already know it.”

The blonde agent lost her air of calmness for a fraction of a second, just to regain it just as quickly when a waiter approached them. After ordering a bottle of champagne for the two of them, she turned back to her companion, forcing her shoulders to relax. “What in the world would give you that impression, darling?”

The man stared right at her, a friendly smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes dawning on his face as he drank the last of the whiskey in his glass.

“You approached the table of a lonely man, who happened to be front and center of the dance floor, where no other person dared to approach. That on its own must have hinted at the importance of my presence in this establishment. From that alone a spectacular woman could infer my name, don’t you think? It almost saddens me to be the kind of gentleman who cannot play such games.”

A perceptive man, the blonde thought as the waiter came with the bottle of champagne and served them both a glass, but as one impeccable eyebrow quirked up on her gorgeous face, a flash of annoyance crossed her blue eyes.

“It is a good observation on your part, Mister Richmond,” she admitted, seeing there was no use to keep feigning ignorance as for the identity of her target, “although I must admit I find myself quite confused. What kind of man would so blatantly turn down a _woman_?” Angelique inquired, her hand casually brushing the lapel of the man’s jacket as she set in motion her plan B. Her blue eyes glimmered with the warm lighting surrounding the hall, as the couples passed next to the table to take the dance floor.

“The kind of man who isn’t interested in the first part of the word.” The man replied simply and, with a polite nod, stood up and made his way smoothly through the room, disappearing behind a heavy door watched by two men in dark suits.

With great annoyance, Angelique watched how her easy target walked away, and the sentiment only increased when her eyes read the black sign with golden letters that hung over the door. Casually, her thin fingers slipped over her left earring, the tips turning the pearl on its setting to switch on the miniature receiver lying under the setting. Oh, how she hated when her targets turned out to be smart.


	2. Plus one

That day had started normal enough for Napoleon Solo. His partner had surprised him by showing at his door first thing in the morning, carrying a glossy red casserole with a mysterious stew the American didn’t dare to ask what it was made of and a tall metal thermos filled with steaming black coffee. Breakfast was taken leisurely and, once finished, the trip to Del Floria’s had been made without a single event. The sky was a bright blue over their heads as they entered through the front door of the small establishment, the old man at the counter greeting them both with a smile and a nod, and as they entered the UNCLE office and the receptionist greeted them both cheerfully, everything was well with the world. Even the fact that the rumors about the peculiar nature of the relationship between him and his partner were still going strong, which meant his fellow female coworkers were still giving him the cold shoulder, Napoleon couldn’t help but admit to himself that the lack of dates wasn’t bothering him nearly half as much as he initially expected. The free evenings had provided him with more free time to spend with the blond Russian, who walked next to him down the hallway and seemed to be in high spirits since their last case in Vienna. Whatever reason was behind that, well, Napoleon liked to think he was at least a little bit responsible for the curious streak of happiness. But none of those seemingly inconspicuous events had hinted at the fact that Napoleon Solo, top agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, would end up entering one of New York’s most prestigious hotel along his partner that same night.

The mission would be a convoluted one; that much had become evident when word came that Mister Waverly wanted them both in his office the moment they had set foot in their own office, the troubled expression which usually accompanied the meetings of top importance adorning their boss’ face right from the moment both agents entered the room.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I hope you both had a good night’s rest,” the old man greeted them casually as the two men took their seats.

Solo looked at Kuryakin from the corner of his eyes, and was surprised to find his partner avoiding their boss’ stare. If he didn’t know better, he would have gone as far as to think the old man was purposefully teasing the Russian; but that was impossible, unless the man was thinking of that particular rumor that had troubled him the previous week…

 “It has been brought to my attention,” Waverly stated before Napoleon had a chance to shift uncomfortably at the sudden realization, “thanks to the detailed reports from our intelligence department - the copies of which you have now in front of you - that our fiends of THRUSH have increased their activities around central New York City. As you are well aware, this can only mean they are preparing themselves for something big. Under close inspection, they have concentrated their efforts near the Richmond Hotel, oddly coinciding with its owner’s business trip to the city. You will surely remember Mister Richmond from the governor’s charity ball we attended last year at the Ritz.”

Illya had already reached for his own folder and put on those eyeglasses his partner found pointless, blue eyes swiftly passing over the words written on crisp white sheets as his brain took in the information with efficiency; Solo noticed with great astonishment how the colored lenses did nothing to diminish the intensity of his partner’s eyes. He wondered once again what the whole point of using them was when they didn’t help his eyesight. If anything, he thought they were absurdly distracting.

While both agents were preoccupied with different thoughts, a few seconds of silence ensued where Alexander Waverly waited not so patiently for an answer from either party. The fact finally registered in Napoleon’s mind and seeing the blond agent not taking his attention from the reports currently in his hands, he took it on himself to recall the facts. Still, no matter how much he forced his brain to make the necessary connections, the name didn’t bring any particular face to notice; all that the event brought to mind was that they had been required to attend to ensure their boss’ security.

“Uh, I am sorry, sir. I don’t seem to remember him,” replied finally the senior agent, clearing his throat and crossing his legs as he reached for the folder set up in front of himself. Hopefully, Waverly hadn’t noticed him paying more attention to his partner’s bothersome glasses than to the material handed to them.

The old man stared blankly at the agent, not an ounce of surprise shown in his stoic face. And yet, Napoleon could have sworn there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he spoke next. “I believe you made yourself quite busy with Miss Holloway at the time, Mister Solo.”

“Holloway?” The agent blinked several times, the name running smoothly through his mind as he did his best to locate the face of the woman who owned it. “Oh, Cynthia! Yes, she was a _charming_ dancer.”

Illya rolled his eyes and took his yellow-tinted glasses off, attention back on their boss as he reminisced about the event, purposefully ignoring his partner’s selective memory. “I do remember him, although I only encountered him by passing. He was surrounded by several models and members of the press, if I recall.”

“Oh, yes, he is one of the country’s most important CEOs and him going to the ball on his own definitely gave people something to gossip about. Anyway, I believe THRUSH sudden interest in Richmond’s Food & Agriculture Group has little to do with its president’s marital status and more with a recent break-in on one of their facilities. There was no official report filed about what - if anything - was taken from their offices, but a sudden tightening of their security has been observed in the past days. Charles Richmond Senior was a close friend of mine, you see, therefore when I enquired directly about the recent events that have taken place during the last week, I was informed his son would much prefer to discuss the matter in person. For that same reason, they provided us with an invitation to meet with Charles Richmond Junior at the hotel tonight and find out directly what it is that have triggered theirs – and THRUSH’s – warning bells at the same time.”

“The whole affair seems awfully secretive. Whatever they are trying to protect must be very important,” Illya commented as he read the last page of his report, a hint of concern on his tone.

“Or very dangerous,” Napoleon added.

“Probably both,” Waverly said, unfazed. “In any case, you will find soon enough.  Mister Richmond made it very clear that he would only speak with someone who had my full confidence, so he suggested the agent who accompanied me last year.”

“How considered from him,” Solo mentioned with a small grin as he reached over for the invitation. Of course a man of world as Mister Richmond would want UNCLE’s top agent to manage a delicate matter, and who could blame him when THRUSH was on his tracks?

 “Given that Miss Dancer is taking some well needed vacations in sunny Hawaii,” Alexander Waverly added, “I hope you don’t mind being Mr. Kuryakin’s companion in her place.”

Napoleon Solo’s eyes opened wide and it was his partner’s turn to smirk. He looked down at the invitation and read it quickly:

_Mister Illya Kuryakin, plus one._


	3. A Cat On The Lap

New York streets were as busy as they ever were during a Saturday night, filled with cabs, cars, and people dressed up to the nines filling the sidewalks as they prepared to have a fun evening. Several times, Napoleon Solo had been part of that crowd, mingling and dining and dancing with one lady or another, enjoying the drinks and the company as the night progressed. Regrettably, this particular evening he was not out for leisure but for a mission and, as much as he would have loved to mix the two as he had done in previous occasions, this time it seemed to him that the stars weren’t on his side. So, as he stopped the black Camaro convertible that their boss had provided exclusively for the event, his mind decided to venture on different considerations… Such as why he hadn’t been the one to be considered best for the current mission, which inevitably brought up the inquiry of what kind of man Charles Richmond really was. Not that he had anything against his partner, of course; if somebody knew how dedicated to a job well done Illya Kuryakin was, it had to be Napoleon. Yet, the small pang of uneasiness took place on his chest as his pride took the small hit.

All that thinking didn’t go unnoticed by his partner, who sat quietly the whole ride from their apartment building to the entrance of the Richmond Grand. After they had taken the mission, both had gone through the customary motions of such an affair: reading the whole reports from top to bottom, memorizing small details that could be useful in the future, preparing their weapons, making sure their communicators were working… the usual. A quick trip back to their apartments to change into the proper clothes for the elegant occasion later and they had gone their merry way into the unknown.

After they were greeted cheerfully by an overly-attentive valet who proceeded to park their car, both agents entered the hotel with simulated calmness, for their eyes were wide open searching for even the slightest sign of trouble in the form of pesky birds. When they were satisfied there seemed to be none around, the two men began to make their way to the dance hall, Napoleon throwing a smile here and there to any pretty woman who crossed their path.

“Mister Waverly said Richmond was impressed by your commitment to work,” Napoleon commented, trying to make his words nonchalant as they walked through the lobby. “But it was nothing out of the ordinary, was it?”

“Just the one I am usually assigned to do: protect our boss and make sure no one ends blown up with a bomb. What other job could I have performed?” Illya asked, honestly confused at the question, his mind missing whatever implication his partner could have tried to make.

For what did he want to imply, really? Napoleon had no real answer for himself on that matter, merely the justification that the idea in general didn’t seem to sit well with him. The blond did notice, though, that Solo didn’t have a particular reply for his inquiry and decided to let it go. Surely, he was thinking the other man had his pride hurt in the whole process.

“But I consider myself lucky: at least I wasn’t the one caught dancing with Lucretia Borgia,” Illya added with that small smirk he usually showed when he was being an insufferable tease.

“Hey, I didn’t know she had a brother complex!” The senior partner retorted, evidently offended by the comment.                                                                                                                          

“The way she praised him whenever she spoke about him was an obvious giveaway.”

“It was not much different from the way you speak about me; I thought she was just devoted.”

The Russian sighed deeply and shook his head, taking out his pair of tinted glasses from the breast pocket of his jacket, putting them on as they approached the entrance of the dance hall.

“Napoleon, I think you are confusing devotion with a _completely_ different word.”

A tall, big man with a friendly smile asked both men for their invitation as they finally reached their destination, Illya showing it with a polite smirk in return, so they could proceed inside. Once there, they were quick to continue their scan for threats, even if Napoleon was still getting distracted by the occasional passing of a gorgeous woman in an equally gorgeous dress from time to time. Everything would have started on a good note for this particular affair if Kuryakin’s eyes hadn’t stumbled with the unmistakable figure of a blonde woman sitting by the table nearest to the dance floor, currently drinking from a glittering glass of sparkling champagne.

“Please tell me she isn’t…”

His partner’s hazel eyes followed the Russian’s line of sight, a wide smile that showed his perfect teeth moved his lips and his feet inevitably started their path towards her. Illya, of course, followed him close behind and felt the threat of a headache inside his forehead. The presence of Angelique always had that effect in him because it only meant trouble for him and the complete lack of attention from his partner to the matter at hand.

“Well, how about that?” Napoleon had said as they reached the table, his charm switch set to high instantly. “We were looking for little birds and here we have -”

“A chatting magpie,” Illya provided dryly, cutting any attempt of his partner to greet her with a compliment, but the woman replied with all of her charisma.

If anyone asked Illya Kuryakin what his opinion about Angelique was, he would surely say no more than that she was a particularly persistent THRUSH agent with whom his partner had grown quite comfortable during the past few years. There wouldn’t be any mention to the fact that Napoleon liked to play with fire, yet he was the only one who seemed to get burn, nor the minimal glimpse at that nagging, silly fear that crept in the middle of the night when he could not sleep…

“Good evening, darling; it’s always a pleasure to see you,” the blonde greeted them as Napoleon took the seat next to her, while Illya stood by his side, not making a move to sit down.  “Here for a drink?” She offered the second glass of champagne to him, her earrings gleaming under the warm lights of the room.

“No, but I’d never turn down a drink with a lovely woman.” He took the glass, enjoying the taste of the cold liquid as he drank it, the bubbles lightening his mood. “Although I believe you are not here for a fun evening in town, either.”

“Oh, believe me, it would be the first thing on my list if we didn’t have work to do.”

“The convenience of a well-timed intervention,” Illya commented. The both of them had seemingly forgotten he was even there. _What an uncommon situation_ , he thought sarcastically. Yet, before he had a chance to elaborate what he meant, one of the waiters came to the table and stood respectfully by Illya’s side as he gave him a note.

“Mister Kuryakin, sir? Mister Richmond thanks you for gracing us with your presence tonight and would be delighted to have your company.”

The three secret agents turned their sights to the bar, finding a man in an impeccable white suit standing by it and looking their way with a beaming smile. Behind him, a couple of tall, strong men stood close by, his bodyguards obviously. Everyone expected THRUSH to make a move that night, it seemed.

“What were you saying about convenient interventions, hmm?” Angelique finally decided to direct her words towards Illya, although the smile on her face failed to reach the daggers in her eyes; the Russian sometimes wondered if his partner didn’t notice them there or if he did and found the bloody things pretty.

Fuming, the short blond man gave a look at Napoleon, who returned a confused expression and a shrug at him.

“I believe it means our, uh, catching up must be reserved for another time,” he conceded an almost apologetic look at Angelique as he spoke, but before he could stand up, the waiter looked at him bashfully.

“Uh, Mister Richmond… said he would like to speak with Mister Kuryakin in private, sir. I am sorry.”

Illya looked at the note that had been given to him and yes, indeed the man wanted to speak to him only. Well, he wondered why if that was the case, the invitation gave space for someone else. Probably Mister Waverly had something to do with that… or the invitation was just given to Richmond’s secretary and she had a default way of elaborating them. Who knew? Either way, the Russian couldn’t avoid the way the blonde woman sitting beside his partner smirked: like a cat that just got the cream.

“Well, that settles it. Now go, a man like that should not be kept waiting.”

It was Illya’s turn to throw daggers with his eyes.

* * *

 

To approach the luxurious bar pretending not to be annoyed by his partner and the insufferable THRUSH agent by his side was a colossal task, one on which Illya Kuryakin would take pride after the whole evening was over. For now, all he needed was to be polite, find out what kind of situation had brought the man so much unwanted attention from the bothersome birds and, after all that, find a way of getting out of the building without dear old Angelique getting stuck by his partner’s side. Not that it would be of any use, considering the woman felt more than at ease to go looking for Napoleon even to the very entrance of UNCLE headquarters, which only added to the offense of her mere presence.

“Mister Kuryakin! I am so glad to finally meet you.”  The man with deep brown hair, impeccable suit and sparkling eyes spoke as he reached the bar and extended one big hand towards Illya. A curious thing that crossed the agent’s mind was that there was not a single trace of worry or fakeness on his voice.

“Mister Richmond,” Illya replied with a polite nod and took the offered hand, expecting a handshake. Too late he realized the man hadn’t been intending for that to happen, and the movement of his hand was greeted by a firm grasp as Richmond leaned forward to place a courteous kiss on top of it.

“Please, call me Charles. ‘Mister Richmond’ reminds me too much of my father, and I think I’m still several years away from looking like an old man.”

Charles hadn’t let go of Kuryakin’s hand, which the Russian found a bit obnoxious, almost going into worrisome territory. The agent wasn’t used to people getting into his personal space; he was a man of a reserved personality and honestly found such invasions on his individual area as an expression of rudeness. Still, this was the man who was supposed to tell him about whatever it was that had everyone walking on eggshells, so he decided to take one out from that unending supply of patience he usually reserved for his partner and let the unusual quirk pass for the time being.

“Then, Charles… ” He tried to speak as the businessman finally let go of his hand and motioned for him to sit on a stool. There was a pair of glasses red wine already served on the bar directly in front of them. The charming smile of the millionaire didn’t falter as the short blond took his seat, yet he kept on talking; there seemed to be a lot he wanted to communicate.

“I believe we crossed paths on one of last year’s events but never got a chance to speak with you properly. Still, I could tell just by looking at you that you were an interesting man. When I found out you worked with UNCLE, I couldn’t help but wonder if…”

“Yes, Mister Waverly said as much,” Illya mumbled a bit on the dry side, but the other man didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he could have stayed silent and the other wouldn’t have minded: his attention was entirely focused on his person but not particularly on his words. It was confusing and outright frustrating for someone who wanted to get the information he was ordered to take and leave as soon as possible.

So, as his ears closed to whatever other useless information the tall man wanted to share, the Russian started to ponder what his partner was doing now that he was stuck hearing the businessman blabbering, but decided against relocating his sight. There was a very high risk his eyes would meet with Angelique’s and that would only fuel his current ire.

“I couldn't help but notice your eyeglasses have no magnification,” Charles interrupted his own jabbering for a moment, a part of him noticing Illya’s mind was somewhere else, and with a furrowed brow and a fluid motion, took the object in question from the Russian's face and studied it thoughtfully. “What are they for?”

Illya's eyes opened with surprise, not expecting to feel as vulnerable as he did when the man took off his glasses. Charles had been the first person, besides Napoleon, to ever comment on the purpose of the object, which brought the faintest smile to his lips as he took a sip of wine.

"Protection from evil eyes," was his reply, which still carried part of the sarcasm always accompanying his remarks.

Charles looked up from the eyeglasses, barely noticing his reflection on the yellowish tinted lenses, and smiled at the short Russian who was visibly out of his depth. "Well, I see what you mean. It could be dangerous for lesser men to be stared straight by those eyes."

For a moment, Illya lost all notion of being in the middle of a mission speaking to a man of which he didn’t know anything about and began to laugh. It wasn’t one of those polite or fake chuckles the world was used to hear from the agent during his work day, nor those he used to charm a potential target to gather information, but instead one of those rare, almost secret laughs he would only let out when he was in the company of his best friend.

The businessman was surprised in return, leaving the eyeglasses on the bar as he smiled fondly at the UNCLE agent. It hadn’t been the reaction he had expected, albeit he seemed unmistakably pleased with the result.

“I am sorry. You just… reminded me of someone,” Kuryakin explained as if the sudden outburst of joyfulness was something he was not allowed to have in the middle of a mission. It certainly felt that way sometimes, since he wasn’t a very trusting person to begin with, yet the kind of approach this particular man had towards him was all too familiar so his response had been reflex.

“An ex-lover, perhaps?” Charles offered, eyes wide as they stared at Illya’s face.

“An old friend who likes to flirt with any woman who dares to cross his path.”

“Such low standards. I only flirt with people I find _incredibly_ captivating,” saying that, Richmond got closer to the man, tucked one stray lock of blond hair that got messed up by the eyeglasses and offered a hand out. “Now, why don’t we discuss business on the dance floor? I must confess I am not the kind to sit still and I have a soft spot for this song."

Illya sighed. Well, at least they were finally going to talk business. So, not even taking a glance back at his partner, he took the man’s hand and hoped things were not as bad as his superior feared.

* * *

 

If the Russian agent had taken a look back at the table, as his conscience must have demanded according to Napoleon Solo, he would have found an extremely bothered man sitting next to a very amused woman. Even from the distance, the American had noticed the interactions between his partner and the businessman with detail, and the champagne he had just ingested wasn’t sitting well within his stomach as he did.

What kind of person, he thought, dallied so openly with another man? However, no one around them seemed bothered by the interaction, which only served to trouble Napoleon even more. Was he just imagining things? The couples were still chatting happily at the tables, the waiters strode from one side of the hall to another keeping the alcohol flowing, and even the lovely singer with her band kept the dancing flowing around. So, why was he the only one who seemed too engrossed on this man? It must be that touching people with familiarity when there obviously was none was a trigger that something was off, and that the man was not to be trusted… surely, that was what was bothering him so much.

“Well, that settles it,” lovely Angelique interrupted his train of thought as he watched the tall man guiding his partner to the dance floor, his own hand gripping tightly the champagne glass.

“Settles what?”

“Aren’t you wondering why I had been sitting on my own when I had obviously been sent here to engage with Mister Richmond?”

“Uh, yes, I have but I don’t see what your point is.”

“I did try to capture his attention earlier, Napoleon. Yet, regrettably, I must admit I was turned down.” Angelique leaned towards him, her hand resting on Napoleon’s shoulder, head tilting to the side in a teasing manner. “Quite tactfully, if I may add on his defense, but still he refused my advances. Such things hurt a girl’s heart, you see. At first I thought nothing of it, only perhaps that he had shown no interest because he saw beyond my looks at my intentions, but now I see it was my boss’ mistake to send me here for the job. The moment you two walked in instead of Miss Dancer or any other of your female colleagues should have been a dead giveaway that your superiors had read something more into the situation, although one cannot really expect the likes of Miss Dancer to play a convincible femme fatale…”

Napoleon was growing restless on his seat as he watched the tall man place a hand on the small of his partner’s back with comfort, saying something that made the Russian smile.

“Yes, April lacks the, uh, qualifications for that sort of job. So?”

“It is evident Mister Richmond is a gay man,” the blonde replied softly and after finishing her champagne glass, took Napoleon’s hand in hers and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Shall we dance?”

A last sip of champagne allowed Solo to follow Angelique to the dance floor and to sway to the music even if his brain wasn’t entirely focused on the task at hand. Yes, he knew that both he and Illya had been sent to gather information and return with whatever could help UNCLE take the upper hand on the situation and he also knew that meeting with the beautiful THRUSH lady in his arms meant more trouble than what they had originally expected. That’s why he had opted not to push the issue and follow Illya when he met the businessman, deciding on himself to stay behind and serve as distraction to keep the woman away. Yet, as the band played and the mellow voice of the singer filled the room, there was still a sensation at the back of his head that his decisions were leading them down the wrong path.

“I always wondered why in every THRUSH report of your partner there was always a lack of girlfriends,” Angelique commented casually as Solo moved them so he could keep an eye at the other couple. “It was a personal opinion of mine that it had to do with that sour disposition your friend displays whenever I am around, I never believed it would have to do with him being a man of different tastes.”

If he had still been drinking, there is no doubt Napoleon would have choked on his champagne. In spite of the lack of liquid down his throat, he looked shocked at Angelique, a disconcerting blush appearing on his cheeks on his partner's sake. And for the first time since the two men had taken separated ways, Solo took his eyes off his friend and looked directly at the blonde standing in his arms. 

“Uh, no, Illya isn't–”

"Now, darling, don't be unfair. There's nothing wrong with a man who enjoys the company of his fellow men,” she said melodiously, her fingertips caressing his cheek as her earrings glittered under the chandeliers lights. A thought formed in her head, one that instantly brought amusement to her lips. “Oh, will you tell me the thought never crossed your mind? Napoleon Solo: an oblivious man of the world."

The agent would have taken offense on the comment or kept on discussing his partner’s personal affairs, if it hadn’t been that the flicker on Angelique’s pearl earring caught his attention. Pearls didn’t twinkle like that. Not on their own.

“What little toy do you have here, love?” Without giving her a chance to react, his hand reached for the piece of jewelry, swiftly taking it off and observing it with care. “A wireless receiver. So _avant-garde_.”

The woman opened her mouth to reply, a look of coyness in blue eyes, but as the words formed on her lips, a garish roar shattered the electric chandeliers surrounding them and the whole hall was engulfed in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know which song they are dancing to? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srxi5xgdKrk


End file.
